


Wings

by RoamthePen



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Not really at all, POV Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), also features unfortunate amounts of crying, but at the same time, kind of, my two conflicted boys falling in love, this is an angsty one folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 14:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18639631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoamthePen/pseuds/RoamthePen
Summary: Loki finds Tony in the afterlife.





	Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, little explanation for my version of the afterlife in this fic. In my perspective, being mentally conscious for eternity would only be peaceful if you didn't have the capacity to feel emotion. That may sound strange but considering that eternity is literally forever, I'm pretty sure most minds would crack. So to me, it makes sense that when souls reach wherever they're going, they are devoid of feeling, and that is how they find peace. Hopefully that makes at least a tinyyyy bit of sense. Since Loki has died before, that may not work out too well for him. :o Anyway, please enjoy! - Roam
> 
> Also, MAJOR ANGST WARNING! Proceed with caution.

 

He comes awake with a start. Heart beating like a bullet in his chest, skin tingling, eyes stinging. He takes rapid, gasping breaths as air escapes him in a hurried rush. He is confused at first, but only for a singular moment. Perhaps it is a written rule of the afterlife, or the intrinsic nature branded on the soul of all sentient beings, but he knows it without a shadow of a doubt. He knows that he is dead. 

There is a slight breeze that tickles the nape of his neck and a calm warmth not unlike heat from the sun shining down through thin clouds. But there is no sun. He is unsure where the light is coming from.

He hikes himself up on his forearms, expecting to feel strain on his joints. He finds none. Tony feels loose, like a stream flowing gently though weathered rocks, slipping into crevices with ease, moulding perfectly to fit the shape of the land. As his breath calms, it matches the soft, mesmerizing hum that fills the air. It vibrates from within his skin, almost as if it is part of him, as if it has always been a part of him. A puzzle finally discovering its missing piece. He feels absolute. Boundless. Infinite. 

_Yes_. Tony thinks. His mind slowly intertwining with his newfound divinity, his newfound serenity. His cares straying further and further from him with each passing moment. He closes his eyes. _This is good._

He is content. 

 

* * *

 

Shrouded in the horizon of immutable daylight and against the crashes of the mighty waves below, he stands in silence. His gaze only wavering slightly when he hears soft footsteps approach behind him. He has not heard the sound of another presence in a very long time. 

The dark veil covering his face taps timidly against his nose in the wind, its brush is light on his eyelashes when he dares to turn his cheek and glance behind him. 

“Tony Stark.”

A thick, accented voice. Filled with either sorrow or relief, he is not certain. He cannot fathom why one would feel sorrow here, there is no room for it. 

The man that stands behind him is Loki. It is a voice he would know anywhere, even here. 

In another life, he might have been angry… frightened. He might have been disgusted at the other’s presence. But that was a very long time ago. Years lived by a mortal man who wore his face, that man is no longer him.

He still does not turn his cheek further, only able to view a shadowy silhouette, hunched over his middle in the chill of the autumn air. The rolling hills behind them were once flowing with lush vegetation, green with moisture and warmth. Now, they are surrounded by the fiery colours of coming winter, kissing their pale skin in stark contrast. They stand at the edge of the cliff like two doves airborne amongst a sea of ebony ravens. 

The sea and land stretch for eternity in all directions. You can walk for as long as your legs will take you (when you reside in the afterlife, your legs will take you wherever you need to go), and you still will not reach an end. There is room for all the souls that have ever travelled here since the genesis of the universe, and all the souls that will travel here in the eons that follow. And yet, he has never seen another soul, he has no desire to. 

They have no reason to find each other, and so they do not. But for some reason, a reason that bends all logical sense, a reason that surpasses the intrinsic nature of wandering souls, Loki has found him. 

He cannot explain it, but it steals the breath from his lungs.

Tony dips his chin and turns back towards the sea. The crisp scent of salt mingles with the bitter chill and its sensation tingles his skin despite being fully clothed. He wears a cobalt tunic and black trousers, fabric braided tightly and sitting snug against his skin, lustrous metal interwoven between the delicate material. Gold bracers adorn his wrists and atop his brow sits a golden ringlet, covered by a shadowy veil to hide his face. It is patrician attire, something he would never wear before his fall to death, but that man is not he. That man is a distant memory.

Footfalls sound behind him once more, leaves crunching beneath heavy boots until Loki is standing next to him, shoulder brushing his own. Loki is looking straight ahead, jaw clenched shut, eyes brimmed with damning tears. His voice cracking when he speaks. “How can you live like this?”

Tony stares. He stares at the man beside him, watches the tears that spill over Loki’s eyes as he holds himself upright with brutal strength. But he cannot feel it, cannot fathom how one could not be satisfied in this realm of eternity. 

Emotion. He no longer understands it.

He draws a silent breath. Illuminated by the perpetual, unseen light. 

“It is not living. We do not live.” He says. “It is being.”

 

* * *

 

Loki stays. 

They rarely speak. Only when necessary, which is not often. The wood cabin is large enough to fit them both. It can be as big as he needs it to be. 

Winter has come and so they spend most of their time indoors. A large fire is crackling in the main room, it brightens their surroundings further with warm light and keeps the chill of the outdoor air from entering. 

Loki sits by the window, staring up at the empty sky, a look of longing adorns his sharp features and his fingers tap absently against his thigh, but he remains still otherwise. Tony takes a sip of his tea, placing himself at the end of the table. Across from Loki and away from the window.

He does not get bored anymore, why should he? Everything he needs is right here. So he turns his gaze toward the falling embers from the fire as they flicker and dissipate before they touch the ground, not truly seeing anything.

“I miss the stars.” Loki says. 

It is the first time either of them have spoke in years.

Tony stares. And yet he still does not understand.

 

* * *

 

The dead know things.

Things that the living cannot.

He watches as unfathomable amounts of time pass, as ancient worlds die and new galaxies form. He sees the ghosts of these doomed realms as they linger near their forgotten existence, unable to find peace as he has. He watches them until even they dissolve into a quiet whisper of a memory that is known to no one.

He watches as the universe weeps, and as the stars cling to the branch of infernal sin and flame. A crippling, brutal wrath travelling across the cosmos. He listens closely and hears the cries of beings as they are lost to the scourge of immortal desolation. 

He watches as darkness encompasses the dying universe until there is nothing.As if the eons of life, eons of love, passion, heartbreak, were all but a pleasant dream. As if the darkness has always been infinite. 

None of this has happened yet. And at the same time, it has always been so. 

The dead know things.

 

* * *

 

It is spring, and Tony is returning to the cabin after spending the day in the garden he and Loki planted outside. He stops abruptly when he hears a quiet voice floating down from the stairs. The voice is low and husky, but pleasant, and it is singing.

The tune grows louder as he creeps up the steps, careful not to make a sound. He pauses before the entrance of Loki’s room. The door was left wide open. Tony hesitates before resting his head against the wall to listen, his hands shaking. The lullaby carries through every crevice of their home, like a plague of locusts. It is choking him. 

 

_“Let the stars shine brightly, before the dawn of the day,_

 

_In the land of eternal light, together we will play._

 

_“Let your dreams come kindly, in your mind while you lay,_

 

_In the tales of the night, together we will stay.”_

 

When the song is finished, he finds that he is standing in the middle of the doorway. Watching Loki’s attenuated form, tracing every line of his body, every strand of his ebony hair. Outlining him as if he were a painter, placing careful brush strokes on a blank canvas. 

Loki’s eyes are closed, and he is leaned back against the bed frame, his long legs are crossed with elegance in front of him. His hair is tied behind him, out of his face, a couple of strands still falling stray against his cheek. He is unaware of Tony’s presence and Tony cannot bring himself to move. He is poised like a statue, eyes wide and confused, something foreign prodding its way inside of him, something he knows he should not be feeling.

The man in front of him begins the chorus of the tune again, voice filled with so much sorrow that Tony chokes on the air leaving his lungs. He does not understand. But he feels that he should. He _knows_ he should. There is something that he needs… 

 

_“Let the stars shine brightly, before the_ dawn _of the day,_

 

_In the land of eternal light, together we will play._

  

_“Let your dreams come kindly, in your mind while you lay,_

 

_In the tales of the night, together we will stay.”_

 

When the song finishes for a second time, Tony is walking towards Loki, entranced. Loki's eyes are open now and he watches Tony warily. 

He places himself on the edge of the bed, just perched on the surface. His breath is uneven, feeling as if he is trying to place something that he cannot find. Tony reaches his hand out in a careful motion, and Loki remains still, so still that Tony is unsure if he is breathing. His fingers brush against Loki’s cheek and he almost pulls away, but the skin is warm to the touch and it jolts Tony so hard that he nearly falls backwards. 

Tony swallows once, and then again. His eyes filling with tears. And he realizes that he is suffocating, suffocating on this forbidden, damnable thing that has no place here. He is _feeling_. It is overwhelming him so wholly that all he can do is sit as the universe comes crashing down upon him, like a tidal wave hitting him with full force, and he is completely raw to it.

“I—“ He coughs, voice rough from disuse. Tony shakes his head. “I don’t understand. I don’t— I don’t—” 

Loki takes Tony’s head in his hands and guides it to his chest, where he holds him steady. A rock tethering him the very edge of his broken sanity. 

He feels a mouth against his ear whispering soft comforts as he falls apart, he latches onto that voice like a lifeline. The last thing he hears before his mind flees is; “Find the emotion that makes you want to live and cling to it. I will be here when you come back to yourself.”

Ancient tears are wept into a night that never comes as the last of him comes flooding back into himself. He is drowning in the wake of his own salvation and he can’t help but cry; “I still don't understand.”

 

* * *

 

Centuries pass.

The realm of the afterlife remains eternal, as does he and Loki. 

 

* * *

 

Tony wakes and is immediately welcomed by the unpleasant view of Loki’s back in his face. “Are you seriously still mad at me?”

Loki is still for a moment before turning over and glowering at him. “Why would I be upset?”

“I dunno, you tell me.”

Loki grumbles and turns back around so that Tony is left once again staring at Loki’s rigid spine. He sighs and clambers up onto his knees, sinking into the mattress but steady enough to grab the other man’s shoulders and turn him onto his back to straddle him. Loki hisses and tries to push him off but Tony holds steady. “Okayyy fine, I’m sorry I didn’t leave enough tomato soup for you in the pot. Next time, I will _endeavour_ to add at least three more tomatoes so there is enough for me and your peculiarly large stomach.” He shakes his head. “I actually can’t believe how much you eat. You’re like a twig with an attitude.” Tony gives him a peck on the lips before rolling off and slinking back under the covers. 

“You absolute blundering oaf.” Loki rolls his eyes, but a smirk tips the corner of his lips upward as he presses his body into Tony’s.

Loki kisses him slowly, pulling away after a moment and searching his eyes. He does that sometimes. Not much, but enough for Tony to wonder if he will ever truly find what he is looking for. “Why do you look at me like I’m about to disappear?” 

A pause. Loki gives him a small smile. It is so genuine that Tony fears something inside of him has cracked. “No matter how hard I try, I cannot believe that I was lucky enough to find you and bring you back to yourself.”

He is lying.

 

 

* * *

 

A few years pass and Loki is still acting strange around him. It is not overtly obvious, it is subtle. Things that he would not have noticed if he didn't know the other man like another part of himself. It is the quick, worried glances as he walks by. The absent bounce of his knee as they share dinner. The utter desperation when they lay together, like Tony is the only cup of water within a blistering desert and Loki is trying to drink every last drop before he dies of thirst. 

Sometimes, Loki will catch his eye from across the grass as they work on their garden, and it is as if all the stars that are absent from the sky are shining down upon them, awaiting them both in an immortal glow that tells their story before it even begins. 

Shivers always crawl down his spine when this happens, despite what his mind has tried to convince him. This was natural, it didn't need to be justified, he _could_ feel this emotion. But as much as he believed it, he couldn't help but wonder if it _was_  natural. The dead weren't supposed to feel. 

It was easier before. Simpler. He was unaffected by the brutal knowledge of clarity. The passage of time was trivial, the absence of the sky did not make him want to weep for years, did not make him want to beg whatever is keeping them here to free them of this torture. None of it mattered. _Nothing_ mattered. Until it did.

Tony wants to be angry at him. Wants to damn him to the deepest part of hell if they weren't already here. Wants to curse the very ground he walks on for bringing him into a state where he can feel the ache of each passing year, feel the loneliness, the fear, the longing, the absurd hope that maybe, one day, they will escape this land in which the night never comes and the stars never shine. And yet he cannot be angry, because Loki had _found_ him, had helped him find himself again. 

Tony has never known how Loki was able to escape the haze. Maybe Jotuns aren't affected by it, he is not particularly sure. There is too much that he is afraid to ask. So he doesn’t bother. When he sees Loki, really looks at him, traces the lines of his body like he has done millions of times before, when he realizes that he is truly not alone, all the pain that he’s been through becomes worth it. All of it. 

Tony loves him. It has to be enough.

 

* * *

 

“Do you think it’s like this for everyone?” 

They sit on the little bench Tony built in their garden. The comfortable warmth of the air nurturing the maze of blossoming flowers as they intertwine with each other, slowly opening themselves to maturity in the coming spring. It is beautiful here, this little spot they made together, tucked away from all of their horrors. A shelter.

Loki doesn’t say anything for a time, and Tony almost believes he isn’t going to. But he eventually lets out a breath. “No.” 

“Why?”

Tony stares at Loki, genuinely curious. Loki just shakes his head and averts his eyes. “I could not endure it if I knew my mother was here.”

 

* * *

 

It is silent all the time.

There are moments when he wishes he could kill himself. Drown or burn to ash or stab a shard of glass into his stomach and slowly bleed out, to fall asleep for the final time and be met with only darkness. The pain would be satisfying, he thinks, and the darkness would be the most blessed relief. He dreams of it sometimes, and wakes drenched in his own tears when he remembers; _This is death_. 

Loki always wipes the tears away and holds him tight. When they cry together, they face no humiliation. It is not a solace, but it is as close as they can come to finding comfort. 

The silence drives Tony to the brink of his sanity. If he ever truly got it back in the first place.

This is why he lays awake at night listening to Loki breathe, trying to convince himself that the other man isn’t just a figment of his imagination. Created by his mind to cope with this unimaginably cruel fate.

 

* * *

 

Years upon years upon years have passed. And they bleed together, so he is no longer able to distinguish this moment from the last. It all just  _is_. 

They are weary, and yet no amount of sleep can replenish them. They are famished, and yet no amount of food can quell their hunger. They bear endless torment, and yet even their blinding love cannot satiate them. He dances around Loki, and Loki dances around him, as they play an awfully manipulative game of pretending their devotion is enough.

They are ancient now. Truly ancient. Time has proven itself to be inconsequential to the soul despite whether your mind is confined to the mesmerizing hum of the afterlife or not. Upon realizing this, Tony has taught himself how to shut his brain off on his own. It is bliss. But he always returns, and when he does, it is agony to remember;  _this is all_.

He wishes he would crumble apart.

 

* * *

 

Millennia go by before Loki comes to him with the knife.

It is carved intricately, the damascus steel is formed to fit the shape of a hand with seamless ease, sculpted to perfection. The swirling design starts from the bottom of the handle and flows to the tip of the pointed blade. Loki is hunched into himself, twirling the dagger between his fingers with a still symmetry known only by one who is well practised in the art.

Tony stares at the blade, confused. He has never seen it before. Another step forward and he is directly in front of Loki, not saying anything, but the look on his face is question enough.

Loki glances up at him, then quickly away. The look he gives him is one of sheer self-hatred, it takes Tony’s breath away. “I have been incredibly selfish, Tony.” 

“I don—“ He was about to say _I don’t understand_ but stopped. “What is that?”

The knife twirls in Loki’s hand another time. Then another. And another. Until Tony realizes that he isn’t going to reply. He tries to hold back his frustration. “Loki, what is that?”

“Your salvation.”

Tony places himself on the seat in front of Loki and grabs his chin to turn it towards him. He is shaking now, with anticipation, and Tony cannot see past the yawning void of Loki’s pupils, the raging storm that encompasses his eyes, the emerald flecks within his irises that latch onto Tony’s beating heart like a falcon latches onto its prey. If Loki is implying what he thinks he is… “Tell me.”

Loki’s mirthless laugh cuts through the otherwise desolate cabin. “This.” He says. Holding the dagger up at eye level, looking down the blade at Tony. “Has the power to bring a soul back to the living.” 

His mouth falls open. "Wha..."

Thousands of years of this _nothing_. No hope, no possibility of relief. And Loki… “What.”Confusion, then indignation, followed closely by anger. “You’ve had that this entire fucking time?” 

He jumps out of the chair he was sitting in. “YOU’VE HAD THAT THIS ENTIRE FUCKING TIME?!” 

Loki looks away, and when he speaks again, his voice is raw. Tony can hardly hear anything beyond his crazed rage. “I am sorry. I—“ His voice breaks and he shakes his head, disappointed with himself. Then, he raises his chin as if compensating for the crack in his composure. “I didn’t want to be alone.” 

Tony stops. He barely manages to not strangle Loki with his bare hands. “Why would you be alone? Can’t you use it?”

He shakes his head again, his voice holding a bitter smile. “A soul can only escape this realm once. I have already had my second chance.” Loki says. “This… This is for you.” 

His anger bleeds away in an instant. Tony gets it now. And it is like the blade has already pierced his heart.

“No.”

Loki whips his head back around to gape at him. “ _What?”_

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“Tony, you _must_.”

“There has to be another way. Where did you get that thing?”

Loki is quick, so Tony doesn’t have time to scramble away when the other man rushes to him, grabbing his wrists tightly. “Anthony, you must listen to me. I am so sorry for keeping this from you, and I promise I will bear that burden for all of time. But I have been able to spend millennia with you, and that is more than I could have ever asked for, so I find myself unable to feel true remorse for keeping you next to me.” Loki sighs. “I always knew this day would come, I always knew I would be alone again. It is alright. I have always known it.” 

“Why would I go back now? Everyone I’ve ever known is dead. Even Thor—“ Loki flinches. Hard. Hands tightening on Tony’s wrists. “Even Thor is dead. Why would I leave you just to die and start all over again?”

“Time does not exist here,” Loki says. “That is why it is eternity. In life, the most ancient things will eventually come crumbling down, but here, we are timeless. When you return to Midgard, it will be as it was when you left.”

“No. I can’t leave you.” Tony says. “I won’t. I will not live my life knowing that you are stuck here.”

“You will not remember.”

“What do you mean, _I won’t remember?_ I swear if you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say, don’t you fucking dare.”

“There are things that the living cannot know.” Tony _knows_ this. He already knows all of this, but he cannot accept it. He will not.

“What if I don’t want to? You can’t make me do this—“

“ _Tony_.” Loki snaps, his eyes blazing with unshed tears. “Your daughter waits for you.” Tony freezes. “Your wife cries for you.”

“Don’t,” He pants. “Don’t say that.”

Loki smiles, it is rabid, his eyes shining in the dim light. “And why should I not? You would truly stay here with me? You would stay here when you know you could see them again? In this hell? Pretend that they do not exist? Your wife, what was her name again? Oh yes, _Pepper_. She visits your grave every single day, she cries herself to sleep every single night. She is _miserable_ , you would damn her to a life of—

“Stop!” He yells. Tony punches the wall so hard that it breaks, crumbling to the floor at his feet. It doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts here. And he hates it. He fucking hates it here. “DAMN YOU! Damn you. Damn you.” He chants, tears streaming down his face, falling, as everything he has ever known comes crashing down around him.

He buries his head in his hands and falls to his knees. Loki catches him before he hits the ground and guides them both to kneel on the wooden panels. Tony sinks his face in Loki’s thin shoulder. And he weeps. 

“It isn’t fair.” He says, never before feeling despair like he is now. 

“Do not cry for me.” Loki holds him and strokes his hair, it is a small comfort. One Loki has always given him. Despite everything, he has always given him this. “Do not cry for me, please.” 

Loki sets his hand on Tony’s temple, trailing his fingers down his cheek, the pad of Loki's thumb brushing the tears away from his eyes. Loki is trying to be strong for him, but as tears begin to spill down his face, Tony can see the fear etched across his features. All the while, the dagger glints in the firelight, it’s edge mocking him for this false sense of security, for feeling safe in Loki’s arms.

“I love you,” Tony says, and tries to smile, but no matter how hard he tries, he cannot manage it. Loki guides the blade to his chest and places Tony’s hand overtop his own. “Even if I don’t remember, I will always love you.” 

When their lips meet, everything stops. Nothing matters but this, but _him_. The taste of Loki’s mouth on his, the feeling of their bodies moulding together like molten gold in a metal crucible. Tony presses against Loki, cherishing his embrace, trying to melt into his soul so that they are a singular entity. Irrevocably bound to one another. His mouth says; _Thank you_. _I love you. Thank you_. And Tony is lost to it, lost to this forbidden love that was never meant to be but was anyway. Lost to this monstrous love, this ugly, awful, hideous love. He is mad with it. 

And they endure, two gods at the dawning of the world. Their fingers intertwined upon the knife, divine tears of sorrow and anger and relief and joy falling from their cheeks and mingling together as their mouths search desperately for solace upon the other. 

“This is what it feels to be at peace, my love.” Loki pants against his lips and a sob escapes Tony’s throat before Loki can catch it with his despaired touch. “This is the closest we will ever come to touching its sweet embrace together, it must be so.” 

He places his forehead against Loki's and drinks in the sound of his singing. A sacred lullaby that prevailed all the horrors of their cursed love. A lullaby that brought him back to himself so many millennia ago. He revels in his lover's soft voice one last time. 

 

_“Let the stars shine brightly, before the_ dawn _of the day,_

 

_In the land of eternal light, together we will play._

  

_“Let your dreams come kindly, in your mind while you lay,_

 

_In the tales of the night, together we will stay.”_

 

Tony runs his fingers along Loki's cheek and listens to their ragged breathing, as he has done for so many sleepless hours. “Do it now.” He whispers, just as Loki thrusts the blade into his chest.

It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts here. But he feels his strength fading away, feels Loki’s grip blur in and out of sensation, feels his heart slow, feels as his eyes begin to droop. Loki is sobbing, his tears falling onto Tony’s face as he is cradled in a wretched embrace. He tries to say _It’s okay. You’ll be okay._ But his lips hardly move.

Loki is chanting something, trying to hold Tony’s body upright as it goes limp in his arms. The ringing in his ears is growing louder now, and it becomes harder to focus, but he manages to catch the very end of Loki’s sentence. “…find peace, Tony. I will be with you always.”

He looks past Loki’s shoulder as the fog clouding his mind strengthens into an all-consuming white light. He thinks it is the sun. The warm, glorious, dawning sun. He reaches for it. And oh, how its beauty shines through the confines of the living and the dead.

He has found it…. peace.

 

* * *

 

“Daddy?”

Tony stares at his daughter in awe. He is drenched from head to toe in rainwater and mud, freezing and completely vulnerable. 

_How the hell am I here right now?_

His little girl stands just barely a foot away from him, still the same height as he remembers, brown hair curled in tiny ringlets as it dries against her neck. Her eyes are wide in shock, as if she is seeing a ghost. Maybe she is. She reaches out cautiously, touching his knee with her fingers, making sure he is truly there, before she throws herself around his legs, sobbing amid the desolate air.

“We missed you.” She cries. “We missed you.”

Tears fill his eyes as he kneels down in front of her, wrapping his arms around her delicate form, cradling her head against his chest. He feels full. He feels wonder. The ground is solid beneath him, arms encasing a person he was destined to never see again. He is dazed, his jaw is slack, his breath sporadic. He is bewildered, uncertain as to why the cosmos would decide to give him such an unimaginable gift.

But… He also feels great sorrow. 

This, he does not understand. 

“I love you, daddy.”

Tony lets his head fall back, the sheltered porch shielding them from nature's many wonders, but still open enough to see the dark blanket that encases the night. He stares hard at the stars that illuminate the sky above them. Tony is connected to those glowing orbs somehow. They are infinitely older than him, and yet he feels as if he has lived for eons longer, like he has lived forever in the short amount of time that has passed between his death and this very moment. And no matter how hard he tries, he can’t push aside the feeling that there is something he's supposed to remember.

“I love you three thousand, kiddo.”

 

* * *

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading!! This is the product of a fever dream I had the other night after watching endgame... fast forward two days later and here we are I suppose!


End file.
